Monday, September 20, 2010
Sunday, September 19, 2010
Friday, September 17, 2010
Free Dinner!
I'm not sure exactly why, but as long as I can remember, I have gone through phases where I have rebelled against my underpants. I'd like to have some fancy ideological argument for you, backing up this decision, but really it's just due to the fact that I'm lazy and ghetto... and when I run out I have to wait until X-mas to get a new pack from my mother. Never though, had I ever thought that this would ever result in any negative consequences- Other than a lack of support.
At the age of 15, I got my first real girlfriend. Yes, I lied to all of my friends in previous years and made up stories about some Swedish teenage swimsuit model who I was courting. She just happened to live on the other side of town, and had an allergy to light so that's why she could never come out to meet my friends. Really though- I was 15 before I had a physically present girlfriend.
Her parents were sweet and usually cordial, but at the same time, very strict Christians. And not the easily accepting type either. Her mother held a weekly support group at her house for "recovering" gays. Because homosexuality is a disorder or an addiction that her Jesus was going cure by waving down with his *holey jazz hands. You get the picture. Needless to say, I, being a pierced up rainbow mow-hawked punk kid, I had a hell of a time gaining acceptance or respect in this particular family dynamic.
One day, after about 6mos. of dating, myself, my girlfriend, and her parents went out to eat at an Applebees type chain restaurant. Their family was SUPER loaded and anytime my scroungey arse could get a free meal out of the deal, I was all over it like a Jew on a clearance sale. (remember, I'm a Jew. I can say that kinda shit. It's my people ;-)
So we sat down to lunch and I had my menu order picked out before anyone else. I obviously chose the steak and shrimp thing that had a $22.99 price tag next to it. As a budding expert cook and self proclaimed foodie wizard, I took the liberty of helping out my girlfriend's mother in her dire search for a proper lunch. We decided that she should probably pass on the deviled eggs and the Satan cakes(made this part up cuz it seems to add a poignent flare,) and we turned our attention to the beef fajitas. In a desperate effort to break the inherent awkward tension that I created by chiming in about mother's chow, I decided this would be the time to interject a little humor. So I said in a heavy southern drawl, "I think you need them beef fu-jee-tuz." To my surprise, the crowd chuckled lightly and the mother chimed back in a poorly executed German accent "I think I AM going to have the beef fuh-hee-tees." I, of course, chuckled back in order to make her feel good about her meager comedic performance. But I really didn't want to be outdone. So right then I decided to step it up a notch! Being a little more care free at this point and obviously on a roll, I hollered out in a very racist like Americanized Asian dialect, " Ahhhh, I think you would be well suited with the beef FUH-J-EYE-TUZ." The table fell silent. YESSIR! I just told my girlfriends overly strict square of a Christian mother that she would be well suited with "beef vaginas."
Now, had I said that kind of thing in my household, my parents and sister would have cracked up laughing and they most certainly would still have not let me live it down to this day. But my girlfriends parents weren't cynical commie hippies like my parents, and I could feel the rope tightening around my dog chain laden neck. All I could think to do was to point my head down and excuse myself to the Jon.
I stood in front of the urinal answering the call of nature handed down by my 24oz. bottomless orange soda, and my conniving but handy brain began conceiving another excuse, this time about how I had to leave lunch early for something VERY important. Finally deciding on an excuse of a forgot about doctors appointment, I finished up and zipped my fly in anticipation of getting the fuck out of dodge. That's when I felt one of the most excruciating pains my 15 year old self had ever felt. It almost felt like I had just zipped up my sword. In fact, I did. After dancing around in agony for a minute or so, I finally worked up the nerve and looked down at the horror. In this moment of ample pain, I wasn't sure exactly which part of my soldier I had fenced in, but it had in fact happened and I could see part of my little guy, peeking out between the golden railroad tracks. I tenderly tried for quite a few minutes to remedy the situation, but soon realized I had not the pain tolerance, nor the balls to rip that zipper down.
So I pulled my torn Misfits cutoff down in front of my waist and hobbled pathetically back over to the table. To my unfortunate surprise, the family was still sitting awkwardly quiet, obviously still phased by my "BEEF VAGINA!" attack on the lady of the family. So I slipped into the booth and at this point, all I could think about was getting home to my mother, and convincing her to call the fire department. Soon after I arrived at the booth, the food came and I tried my best to subconsciously urge the others to finish quickly by scarfing my 23 dollar lunch like a refugee and placing my napkin atop my plastic plate.
After what seemed like an eternity, the bill came and went, and we all got up to leave. That's right about the same time I heard my girlfriend's father loudly proclaim "OH, HOLY HELL." I then looked down and noticed that a fair amount of red blood was trickling down my pant-leg. My girlfriend's mother immediately grabbed a napkin and began to blot irrationally and haphazardly at my pants. In utter fear I tried to back away and spit out a poorly constructed story about how I had cut my leg, when my girlfriend lifted my shirt.... Her mother shrieked, her father proclaimed "OH, HOLY HELL" again, and my girlfriend began to laugh hysterically. By this time, quite the scene had been made and all of the beady eyes in this shit-hole of a restaurant were now horrifyingly focused on my penis part which was protruding from my zipper. So I fucking ran away.
I ran outside into the parking lot and across the street and down the boulevard twords downtown. Intent on shoulder-tapping for a 40oz. to ease the pain on the way home, I headed to the local quickie mart.
But soon after my brilliant idea, I heard the honk of an oncoming vehicle. It was my girlfriend's family in their Ford Aerostar, and they pulled over beside me. The front passenger window rolled down and my girlfriend yelled "GET IN." Shocked that they came for me, magnificently embarrassed, and still in a shit ton of pain, I reluctantly got in and they headed for the local E.R. We waited silently in the lobby for what I'm sure was atleast an hour. No one spoke a word but eventually I got my turn in the white room. My penis was soon freed and bandages were soon applied. I even coerced the doc into giving some kind of pill that made me feel really floaty. I was feeling alright emotionally, although more than a few sneers and chuckles from the student nurses cast pass my senses.
So I wandered back into the lobby where the family was waiting. "Lets never talk about this...again, Tobiah."
I actually found solitude in that. I believed my secret was safe. I knew for a fact that neither of my girlfriend's parents could probably ever muster up the courage to recount this tale, let alone physically verbalize the words "penis" or "vagina."
But I'm still not too fond or trusting of underpants.
At the age of 15, I got my first real girlfriend. Yes, I lied to all of my friends in previous years and made up stories about some Swedish teenage swimsuit model who I was courting. She just happened to live on the other side of town, and had an allergy to light so that's why she could never come out to meet my friends. Really though- I was 15 before I had a physically present girlfriend.
Her parents were sweet and usually cordial, but at the same time, very strict Christians. And not the easily accepting type either. Her mother held a weekly support group at her house for "recovering" gays. Because homosexuality is a disorder or an addiction that her Jesus was going cure by waving down with his *holey jazz hands. You get the picture. Needless to say, I, being a pierced up rainbow mow-hawked punk kid, I had a hell of a time gaining acceptance or respect in this particular family dynamic.
One day, after about 6mos. of dating, myself, my girlfriend, and her parents went out to eat at an Applebees type chain restaurant. Their family was SUPER loaded and anytime my scroungey arse could get a free meal out of the deal, I was all over it like a Jew on a clearance sale. (remember, I'm a Jew. I can say that kinda shit. It's my people ;-)
So we sat down to lunch and I had my menu order picked out before anyone else. I obviously chose the steak and shrimp thing that had a $22.99 price tag next to it. As a budding expert cook and self proclaimed foodie wizard, I took the liberty of helping out my girlfriend's mother in her dire search for a proper lunch. We decided that she should probably pass on the deviled eggs and the Satan cakes(made this part up cuz it seems to add a poignent flare,) and we turned our attention to the beef fajitas. In a desperate effort to break the inherent awkward tension that I created by chiming in about mother's chow, I decided this would be the time to interject a little humor. So I said in a heavy southern drawl, "I think you need them beef fu-jee-tuz." To my surprise, the crowd chuckled lightly and the mother chimed back in a poorly executed German accent "I think I AM going to have the beef fuh-hee-tees." I, of course, chuckled back in order to make her feel good about her meager comedic performance. But I really didn't want to be outdone. So right then I decided to step it up a notch! Being a little more care free at this point and obviously on a roll, I hollered out in a very racist like Americanized Asian dialect, " Ahhhh, I think you would be well suited with the beef FUH-J-EYE-TUZ." The table fell silent. YESSIR! I just told my girlfriends overly strict square of a Christian mother that she would be well suited with "beef vaginas."
Now, had I said that kind of thing in my household, my parents and sister would have cracked up laughing and they most certainly would still have not let me live it down to this day. But my girlfriends parents weren't cynical commie hippies like my parents, and I could feel the rope tightening around my dog chain laden neck. All I could think to do was to point my head down and excuse myself to the Jon.
I stood in front of the urinal answering the call of nature handed down by my 24oz. bottomless orange soda, and my conniving but handy brain began conceiving another excuse, this time about how I had to leave lunch early for something VERY important. Finally deciding on an excuse of a forgot about doctors appointment, I finished up and zipped my fly in anticipation of getting the fuck out of dodge. That's when I felt one of the most excruciating pains my 15 year old self had ever felt. It almost felt like I had just zipped up my sword. In fact, I did. After dancing around in agony for a minute or so, I finally worked up the nerve and looked down at the horror. In this moment of ample pain, I wasn't sure exactly which part of my soldier I had fenced in, but it had in fact happened and I could see part of my little guy, peeking out between the golden railroad tracks. I tenderly tried for quite a few minutes to remedy the situation, but soon realized I had not the pain tolerance, nor the balls to rip that zipper down.
So I pulled my torn Misfits cutoff down in front of my waist and hobbled pathetically back over to the table. To my unfortunate surprise, the family was still sitting awkwardly quiet, obviously still phased by my "BEEF VAGINA!" attack on the lady of the family. So I slipped into the booth and at this point, all I could think about was getting home to my mother, and convincing her to call the fire department. Soon after I arrived at the booth, the food came and I tried my best to subconsciously urge the others to finish quickly by scarfing my 23 dollar lunch like a refugee and placing my napkin atop my plastic plate.
After what seemed like an eternity, the bill came and went, and we all got up to leave. That's right about the same time I heard my girlfriend's father loudly proclaim "OH, HOLY HELL." I then looked down and noticed that a fair amount of red blood was trickling down my pant-leg. My girlfriend's mother immediately grabbed a napkin and began to blot irrationally and haphazardly at my pants. In utter fear I tried to back away and spit out a poorly constructed story about how I had cut my leg, when my girlfriend lifted my shirt.... Her mother shrieked, her father proclaimed "OH, HOLY HELL" again, and my girlfriend began to laugh hysterically. By this time, quite the scene had been made and all of the beady eyes in this shit-hole of a restaurant were now horrifyingly focused on my penis part which was protruding from my zipper. So I fucking ran away.
I ran outside into the parking lot and across the street and down the boulevard twords downtown. Intent on shoulder-tapping for a 40oz. to ease the pain on the way home, I headed to the local quickie mart.
But soon after my brilliant idea, I heard the honk of an oncoming vehicle. It was my girlfriend's family in their Ford Aerostar, and they pulled over beside me. The front passenger window rolled down and my girlfriend yelled "GET IN." Shocked that they came for me, magnificently embarrassed, and still in a shit ton of pain, I reluctantly got in and they headed for the local E.R. We waited silently in the lobby for what I'm sure was atleast an hour. No one spoke a word but eventually I got my turn in the white room. My penis was soon freed and bandages were soon applied. I even coerced the doc into giving some kind of pill that made me feel really floaty. I was feeling alright emotionally, although more than a few sneers and chuckles from the student nurses cast pass my senses.
So I wandered back into the lobby where the family was waiting. "Lets never talk about this...again, Tobiah."
I actually found solitude in that. I believed my secret was safe. I knew for a fact that neither of my girlfriend's parents could probably ever muster up the courage to recount this tale, let alone physically verbalize the words "penis" or "vagina."
But I'm still not too fond or trusting of underpants.
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